When Ink Collides
by Eye of Fire
Summary: "Breaking News: Octolings in Your Neighborhood and How it Effects You!"
1. Battle High

"Every time. Every. TIME!" she snarled as she tugged herself of her ink trail. It had been gut instinct that landed her back right as someone's bomb exploded in front of her and she was thankful that she still had those instincts at all. Her pointed ears were still ringing and she had to shake her head to get the stars out of her eyes. She knew she had to move, she couldn't stay still for too long. But where were her teammates?

The sound of a charger priming over the chaos of the turf war made her ear perk and she threw herself to the side to dodge the shot. Years of combat training baked into her body kicked in and she tucked into a quick roll before she sprung up into a dead sprint. Tossing a shuttle mine ahead of her, she let it run itself out before she dove into the trail it had left behind. But that only got her so far before another shot plinked off the ground right in front of her and she was forced to jump out of the ink and back behind a nearby **bunker**.

She knew there wasn't enough time left in the match to catch her breath and regroup, but the other team had her on lock and their charger had been gunning for her since the word go. It was getting under her skin just how effectively they were keeping her pinned down one lane and she was starting to get the feeling that it wasn't some inkling scrub getting lucky she was dealing with. No, this pressure felt familiar and that made it all the more irritating.

"Moira, where are you!" She jerked her head in the direction of her captain and she tried to shout back, but another shot pinged off the **can** and forced her back against it for shelter.

"Nowhere helpful! Where are you!" shouted back the octoling. "Their charger has me pinned! Could really use an assist on this one!"

"Sure, I'll help ya!" Moira's gaze snapped to her right as an inkling launched himself out of a nearby puddle of mint ink, his sploosh-o-matic tucked against his shoulder. "Help ya back to yer spawn!"

She was moving before her brain realized what was going on, her guns forgotten on the ink-splattered floor. It took all of a breath for her to shift her weight properly, but she knew the distance and she knew the weapon. As soon as he pulled the trigger, she vanished into the remains of her ink puddle beneath a rapid hail of ink. But she didn't stay there for long.

"Gonna hide in yer ink? Fat chance." Pointing his gun down at her, he figured that it was a quick, simple notch on his gun. But before he could force her back to her spawn, she threw herself into his stomach as hard as she could.

"If you're going to take me out, you're gonna have to earn it!" she snarled as the two of them slid across the floor in a mess of mint and pink ink. When they came to a stop, her fist was on him in a flash, aiming blow after blow on any unguarded part of his body she could reach.

But her assault didn't last. Her ears perked as a sound she had become familiar with over the last few minutes washed over her senses. Lifting her head from the unlucky inkling, she turned her lavender gaze in the direction of the charger's perch. And in that moment, she could see the glint of the spotlights off of their splatterscope. But more importantly, she could see the person behind it. Their eyes locked across the expanse of the chaos and she jabbed her finger at the inkling; a wordless challenge.

And the answer was a shot to her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Appendix**

(The first instance of a word in the appendix will be bolded. All terms in the appendix, unless stated otherwise, will be paintball terminology.)

**Bunker**: An object on the field used for cover or shelter, such as inflatables, barrels, tires, etc.

**Can**: A term used to describe a paintball bunker which look like a cylinder, often referred to as a 'soda can' or a 'stand up' bunker.


	2. Old Wounds

_I can't believe we lost that match._ Moira sipped at her drink as she thumbed through her phone, partially paying attention to the conversation her teammates were having. Something about a team meeting, she was only really catching every other word. She made sure to nod or shake her head when she needed to, of course.

Sifting through the stats of the last ranked match, she was on the hunt for someone specific in the post-match roll and the talk of team comp and weapon variations and practice locales was making it hard to focus. And if she were being honest, the cafe they were in was putting her on edge. Something about it being so open, she couldn't really say, but she had made certain to take a booth seat regardless. Having some form of wall to her back made the worst of her nerves calm down, at least.

Despite her kind no longer being under the thrall of King Octavio's corrupting song, a lifetime of training didn't simply go away in the blink of an eye. She could still disassemble an octoshot in under twenty seconds; still knew all the ways junk could be turned into a workable whole. She stretched out her legs and slumped dejectedly into her seat. Did inklings grow up like that? Did the girl with the neon green shirt flirting with the barista know how to make a proper fist? How to throw a proper punch?

She had been having some thoughts on it before, on just how much she had retained when that sonorous spell had been shattered. But after that match, looking back, she knew she'd had her answer. That inkling had been terrified, his eye already swelling shut and ink dripping from a busted lip. She knew just from that look that he'd never seen real combat before; never been in a _real_ engagement before.

She had meant for it to be a simple tackle to disarm him. But the moment he had popped out of his puddle, she hadn't been in control; that was for certain. Her teammates would vouch for her, of course; they knew she wasn't like that because that's how she wanted to seem. She wanted them to see her as non-threatening so that she could finally live a life that had been robbed from her.

Looking past her phone and at the hand resting beside her smoothie, she curled it loosely into a fist. And now that life was in jeopardy because of one mistake.

_Seventeen would have been proud,_ she mused wryly, running her thumb over a scar along her index finger. But Seventeen wasn't here; she was. And _she_ wasn't happy with what had happened. The people around her? She could see it in their eyes, hear it when she walked into the cafe. They weren't happy either, they just didn't want to say it out loud. All they had needed was the right push in the right direction to confirm what they had been thinking; what their parents' parents might have told them or their textbooks might have espoused.

Something in her knuckle popped and she hissed at the sudden discomfort. She shouldn't be thinking like this; Inkopolis wasn't like the valley. People here weren't going to turn around and start jeering at her because of one incident. They were a kinder bunch of folk. Softer and less disciplined because of that kindness, sure, but definitely more welcoming too. After a couple of weeks, no one was going to remember what had happened and everything was going to be back to normal.

At least that was the hope.

"You in there Moira?" The octoling blinked and looked up from her phone to the pair of inklings sitting across from her. When had they stopped talking? She usually wasn't that inattentive, but that last match had her rattled.

Rubbing at her eye, Moira gave her a distracted nod and set her phone down. She'd have to look later for that splatterscope user. "Sorry, been mulling over some stuff ever since I sat down. Didn't mean to zone out like that, Dorsa."

"It's okay, Moira." Pushing up glasses that looked a little too big for her face, the inkling smiled disarmingly at her and took a sip from her tea. "Given the way the match ended, I would be pretty rattled too if I were in your shoes. At least you won't be gone from the field too long; two days will pass by in a blink."

Moira grimaced. Judd had called the game after she had been splatted and slapped a two-day suspension on her head for what she'd done good measure. Not one of her proudest moments, but she couldn't really blame the cat either. While two days wasn't long by any stretch, that still meant she had two days to fill now.

"Yeah..." She heaved a sigh a rubbed her finger along the back of her phone. "I'm sure I'll find a way to keep myself busy. Something always has to get done down at the bakery or someone's splattershot has to get fixed." Forcing herself to sit upright, she took an idle sip from her drink. "Kinda bummed that I won't be able to help push rank for a couple of days, but it'll give me a chance to catch up on some commission work at home."

"Are you still doing side repairs?" asked Dorsa, a tone of distaste rolling in under her otherwise cheery disposition. "Moira, you know that could get you in trouble."

"What I'm _doing_ is offering my knowledge and services at a reasonably fair price. Definitely cheaper than the licensed places in and outside of the city, that's for certain." It was an automated response, something that she had gotten used to reciting whenever someone asked about her side business. "Most inklings don't know how to repair their own guns when the problem isn't as simple as 'replace the ink tank' or 'tighten the **bottom line.** I am happy to give the service and if they happen to tip me, that's fine."

Dorsa squinted her eyes at the octoling who just shrugged back which made her sigh through her nose in exaspation. "It's like talking to a brick wall with you... One of these days you're going to get _banned_ from competing at all, Moira. I know you don't want that."

"I'm not going to get banned just because I'm patching up a tank, that's ridiculous and you know it." Toying with her straw, she glowered over the table at her teammate. "Both Judd and the commission have bigger things to worry about than some unlicensed **inksmith** tinkering with guns for pocket change."

"Yeah, like dealing with a unlicensed inksmith who happens to be an octoling and who recently broke someone's nose?" chimed in her brother. That earned him a pointed glare from her. "Good thing we don't know anyone like that, right?"

"How kind of you to join in on the conversation, Finn," replied Moira dryly, to which he just shrugged and got up to go get his order that had been called.

"He has a point, Moira. If they weren't looking at you before, they are now. A two day suspension is bad sure, but it might be the start of something worse and we can't afford you to be banned." Now Dorsa was getting angry and Moira could feel a defiant streak starting to rear its ugly head in her chest. But she tamped it down with a long draw from her drink.

"You made your point, Dorsa." Slurping up the last of her drink in an obnoxiously loud fashion, she pressed her palms to the table and stood. Stooping down, she picked up a duffle bag battered with age and decorated with colorful charms and pins and dried ink stains of multiple hues before slinging it over her shoulder. "I'll be a good girl and keep my nose clean."

"See that you do. I don't want to have to be the one who tells the captain that we lost our fourth because she was too stupid to lay low." The condescension in her voice set the octoling's teeth on edge, but she forced herself to smile amicably and walk out of the café. She had already hurt one inkling, she didn't need to hurt a second.

"Laying it on a little thick, don't you think sis?" asked Fin as he set down his food, his eyes following the octoling as she walked down the sidewalk, her head bent as she went back to looking through her phone. "It's almost like you wanted her to deck you."

Dorsa's eyes slid over to her brother and lifted her hands in a shrug of noncommittance. "She wasn't going to, not after earlier," she replied before she turned her gaze to his food and plucked a kelp chip out of his basket. "If anything, she's probably going back home right now to fix someone's weapon or whatever it she does in her off time."

"And if she had hit you?"

"If she had, she would have dug herself a deeper pit than she already did today." Narrowing her eyes, she chewed on her chip thoughtfully. "Not that I would mind if she found herself banned from the rankings entirely, but you didn't hear it from me."

Finn looked at his sister for a moment, eyebrow raised, but ultimately said nothing as he bit into his sandwhich. He'd watch how the ink fell, as it were.

~~~~~~~~

**(Appendix)**

**Bottom Line:** This is device that attaches directly to the grip of a splatter marker and allows a constant ink source to be attached directly or via a hose to a tank situated elsewhere on one's body (most commonly on the back, though some have situated a smaller tank than standard on the hip or thigh) .

**Inksmith:** This is a trained or certified individual that is authorised to work with high pressure ink (or HPI) and associated parts like valves, regulators and hose attachments. You will find that some equipment manufacturers will state that certain product warranties may be void if you do not have ink related repairs carried out by a certified inksmith.


End file.
